Silence Around You
by Soorim
Summary: What if Vash was Legato's father? Stumbling through a world filled with the thoughts and voices of the spiders who hate him, Legato finds a golden haired man who shares his hatred.
1. Sound Of Scorn

Silence Around You 

This is my attempt at writing a Fanfiction about Legato's past that isn't suffering from

" Abusive- father/cherished- younger -sister -syndrome." It is important that you understand that in the story, Legato's " talent" allows him to read minds. Also, I will use the star for spoken words and the quotation marks for thoughts, because this story deals mostly in thoughts. For an all around explanation, read chapter Two. 

Disclaimer: I do not own my life, nor know where my soul is, so how can I own someone elses' dream? ( Trans: I don't... own ... Trigun... at...ALL! ) 

Silence. Complete and perfect silence. In my life, I have rarely experienced the quiet absence of pain that goes with this. Only when with you... can I block out everything, can I see someones' lips move and not hear them. Here, In Death, I can hear your voice as I never could in life. Thank you. 

Ch. 1 Sound of Scorn 

Ever since I was a child, I could hear the thoughts of all those around me, their pain, their selfishness, I was a witness to it all. My mother was a prostitute; the first words I remember hearing - she said with such an superficial, motherly smile - were ! useless ! I have to get away from him! I'll send him to cleaning the beds, the worst ones. Terrifying monster than he is, that'll teach him to look at me with those demon's eyes My mother!, my own mother, hated me for being born, hated me and blamed me for every little wrinkle she had, for the fact that she thought after I was born, men no longer looked at her the same way. She would make up punishments in her head whenever she was forced to be with me, then inflict them in such a way that she seemed the voice of reason. She would say Legato, I am so tired..., do you think you can handle doing this - and- this...? with a look in her eyes that would make any unsuspecting child think he was being allowed the privilege of helping his mother. I, however, was well aware that my mother was playing off that instinct that she thought any normal child would have, - the desire to prove themselves " grown -up. " I had no such instinct. Since when have I, Legato Bluesummers, needed to prove anything to anyone? 

As a child, not so guarded and sound driven, I would occasionally let the sorrow show in my eyes when I was sent to do a task. When older, I would come to make a sport out of this, listening to the fevered sound of her nightmarish thoughts " he knows, he knows, he knows, ...." a glance in my direction " how can he look at me with those dead eyes, like drowning pools. How can he see everything in that glance of tainted eyes? He is not natural, not real, not like I am, ... real. He knows..., how much I hate him. Why? How can he know how I hate him ? " 

Once and only once, did I get something other than cruel amusement from these mental rambles of hers. It was the one time I heard of my father. " ... his eyes are so horrible, so cold, so unlike his fathers, which were the warm and sparkling summer blue sky... Bluesummers, ha, you are never what I hoped for. I hoped for a little bit of him! Legato... Hah! You are a smooth, elegant, snake, never him, never like him! But, no , no, I lost you to July, you never even left an shadow of a memory of that bloody trenchcoat you always wore." After that, it was back into the downward spiral of pointless, chaotic, thoughts that I could never avoid hearing . 

Listening, yes, but never hearing. 

In this place of fornication and filth, I had to hear every worry and grievance, and every thought whispered through clenched teeth. Is it any wonder than, that I avoided with a will any excursions into public, where I had to shout to hear myself over the wailed thoughts of others? Until the day I met Knives-sama, I would never hear a spoken voice, just the actual thought. What is Speech, but the ghostly echo of Thought? I could never hear my mother over the cry of the rabble, so she came to assume that I was terminally deaf and couldn't concentrate on reading lips with people jostling and bumping me in a crowd. This made no sense, but simple solutions for the simple. I am neither deaf nor dumb, neither simple nor stupid. I am Legato Bluesummers, and I can not hear her any longer. 

Once, and only once, as a child, did I hear silence. I was sleepwalking to market, envisioning myself as dead to lessen the ache of voices in my head and the pain of my beaten, exhausted form. Although ever since I turned seven I was regularly beaten,( for children who were seven were considered "marketable "and I was no such thing under any circumstances..) it was particularly painful and was probably intended to be fatal. I had baited my mother and pulled her off the edge of her sanity into the abyss in which I make my home. Screaming the sounds feral wounded animals make, she had fled to the resident bodyguard, who tried to calm her... for every bloody scratch she drew down his face in her madness, I suffered tenfold. As the only person who had been in the room when her apparently spontaneous madness occurred, it was my fault. Although it was my fault, these humans did not know that, but their logic is skewed, so here I am, suffering.

As I drew near to the market, thankfully lost in thought, far from the problems of my battered body, amid the claustrophobic walls of the whorehouse I took residence in - I will never call it " home ."- a shadow lengthened while I was in an alley. Before my normally alert mind could register that there was a person, a piercing pain descended from the sky and then I was abducted off to a squalid den by a ruffian who would never see the sunset again. Later, in my remote room I would contemplate this and decide that the reasons I overlooked this man were presumably: 1. I was suffering from temporary brain damage, ( I regenerate ) and 2. The fool's thought patterns were nearly indistinguishable from those of someone who's' I had memorized, so I overlooked him. He was not making any secret of his lewd thoughts, which I had to listen to the entire time we were going there. From this I interpreted that we were going to a place I had heard of by way of a prostitute " rescued" from there. Judging from what I knew, I was not going to live for very long... I believe that this was the point at which my self- control began to crack, tormented by the rough feel of the mans shoulder, the horrible slime covering the sack he was wearing and the knowledge of my impending fate. 

As he walked in the door, my limp form slung over his back, I was greeted with an abomination of a smell that emanated from the rotting wooden walls of a squalid room and its residents, who were indistinguishable from the walls in their filth. They cheered as they leered at me, surveying their next diversion, roaring their thoughts of what they would do to me... Their lust was deafening. Terrified, and taxed beyond anything a mortal should've been able to withstand, my self control dissipated like weak mist before the sun and I screamed long repressed feelings at their resounding hearts. And then... everything stopped. Their pathetic panicked hearts unerringly bowed to my frenzied command and simultaneously burst and stopped. The man clutching me slumped to the ground, the heat of his body fleeing as he did so. The hollow underground silence was pure ecstacy to my tired form. I lingered there in the doorway, listening to the perfect quiet of their deaths, the death of everyone, to me. Everything seemed so slow to me as I collapsed in the doorway, taking with me the comforting thought that I could hear nothing. I could hear...

.... Silence. 

SM: Hah, ha! Looks at Fanfiction Blame the Hot Cheetos, I guess. Just in time for Mothers Day... Errr. sweatdrop Please Review? You were complaining, so I edited it and now it is slightly longer... I wanted to end in the same place... so... 


	2. Resonating Dark

MaroonSorrow: I have positive reviews! Thank you very much! *bows* This my first Fanfiction ever! I was wondering whether or not to make this a three part thing, as had originally been planned, or whether to make it longer. I might do something on the real reason Legato cherishes and comes to idolize Knives, ( not really slash, but if you ask for it...?) This isn't going to be a romance though! It was never meant to be one! Also, in the first chapter, Legato is supposedly about seven. 

THANK YOU REVIEWERS!! 

Apple: Yeah, I try to avoid stereotypes when possible. If you can't tell, I I'm a huge Legato fan too!! ^_^ 

Yma : Yes, there'll be more... How much more depends on what the readers tell me. Irony is fun, don't you think? 

Sephiroth1ripley8: Thank you! * eyes grow to the size of saucers* The next chapter should explain a lot... 

Phychotic Llama: I have trouble writing long chapters for some reason :P 

Black mist, empty and dark but somehow comforting and familiar...? Legato's mind was regressed so far, he couldn't register that his mind was vague, everything was so indistinct that he could not even worry or process a single thought, he just felt an awareness of movement: traveling without once moving. As if the silence had wrapped itself around his body and then grown, until the quiet was a living thing, and he was inside of it. In this forlorn fog, a static awareness slowly spread through the dim mist of his mind as his destination approached. Then, Legato was lying in the drab bed he had loathed all his life, feeling awareness creep behind his eyelids as he floated to the top of a immeasurable well. As his eyelids fluttered, the half thoughts of the place he had been were indisputably erased by the rough texture of the sheet, the smell of neglect, the hollow aura of the stagnant, lifeless room devoured by shadowed corners. 

~~~~~~~Ch.2 Resonating Dark 

In the room I have spent the entirety of my existence in, there is not a shred of life, shred of my " heart" should I have one. I have heard, from the visitors to this room though, that it and I have much of the same aura to us, one of disrepair. This room inspires prostitutes to philosophize, children to fear, animals and priests to die, and to me... it is nothing, a hated place, like the rest of the world. In this room I have listened to the maddened voices screaming from all directions, in this room I have screamed forever, the voices of a hundred people resonating in my mind, demanding to be heard. Locked in this room as a child, I was forced to sit here, my brain an open doorway for the passing thoughts of anyone to invade. Hour on days upon years I sat here, living three hours for everyone that passed. Now, I can still hear them, I know them so well, the dregs of humanity, which is nothing but dregs!, their thoughts no longer madden me, for I have learned all there is to know about them, I have mastered the art of thinking and listening. I believe my brain has adjusted, because I am insane now, I imagine. How could I not be, knowing everything that a hundred know, and never forgetting it? 

As I know of humans, if I were a different child, I would be unable to speak, to write, to understand ... anything, for I have not been let out of this room unless it was for some punishment since my birth. I have crafted my understanding out of the words and writing in the brains of others. The ignorant bitches who run this hovel dare to assume that I have received my knowledge from that the devil, they whisper of me in dank corners where they assume I can not here them. " There are things on Heaven and Earth not dreamt of in your Philosophy..." I learned that quote when a wealthy patron stopped by one night, as is my custom, I scanned his brain.... that night I learned of Literature. And now, that I have learned to concentrate my mind so that I may hear in far away places, this room no longer imprisons me as it once did. I have wandered into the mind of many a librarian and spent a pleasant? hour there. Desecration of the word, to say that I am happy. 

Having had spent forever and a few hours in " my " room, I have thought of just about every problem I know of, found a solution, and moved on. In the beginning, when I was just four or five, I would wonder about my parentage, deluding myself with idle dreams, until the day I was listening on a cooking woman talking of her own " mysterious " heritage. It was then I realized how pathetic I was behaving. Since that day, I have learned more and come to a different conclusion then I had then, for now, I can distance my emotions. Mine is the cold calculated kind of madness, I believe, rather like a serial killer, planning with utmost cool, his next murder. There is one crucial difference between me the serial killer though, I have none of the emotions that drive him. There is no room for such emotions in this empty room of mine. Though the murderer may believe that he has distanced himself, he has not. He has not erased him emotions, just buried them under a thin layer of bravado, righteousness or anger. 

I murdered several men today. I feel no regret. I wonder, if I screamed this thing, silence, at the beating hearts of every person in this harem, would they die? Today's experience has opened up a whole new field of thought, but particularly, there is one more thing in this room today. Silence, or at least its memory... I remember, I never could comprehend that word.

***************************

* Legato... Legato. Legato! Are you listening to me?* My mother pasted an serene face on. * But mother, I still don't understand...* Silence is the sound when there is no sound! The sound that you won't let me hear!" * But how can there be no sound? How can there be a noise that is no noise-* Legato ... shut up! * ... and we waited. * Do you hear that? Hear it, silence? * I replied, * I hear your heartbeat, the cook talking, the fact that you say I'm simple and that I ..." my mother was looking at me with panic in her eyes. That was the day I understood that reading thoughts is not a endowment everyone has. 

******************************

On that day, I came to the conclusion that my " talent " was not at all inherited from my mother. Therefore, it must be the blood of my father that ran rampant in my blood. As fallows, my father must not be human, because if my blood, diluted with my mothers human impurity was still enough to elevate me above all the other humans I know, than my fathers blood could not be of a human bloodline. So all my problems derive from this beginning, father. You disappeared and relinquished me to indifference, condemning me to insanity, taking with you any answers you might have had. As I came to this conclusion, well satisfied with myself, I then perceived the first stirrings of an cold outrage in my heart. There will be a reckoning for this, Father, count on it. 

MS: This feels like a " filler" chapter... Ugh. I felt like my premise needed explaining, so... I didn't just want to say " At the time of this story.... blah, blah " Please review! 


	3. Self Control

MaroonSorrow: Thank You, to my few reviewers. Sorry about the long Hiatus... I Officially Dedicate This Chapter to my best friend, Sarah Miller!... Eh...Read the tangent thing I posted on my Livejournal!!!! Livejournal.com, user Jahisan!!!!!!

Empress Galaxia: I was just tired of Legato's mother being a sweet perfect housewife who's only role is to die and traumatize him, or not being in the story at all. Also, my twisted little mind likes the idea of Vash being Legato's dad.

Lil Kayke: Happy - sad indeed! I don't think I will be making the relationship between the two lemony or anything like that, though..

Animekittykat: This chapter is longer... You like it?

Yma: You are the only one who reviewed twice. You have no idea how happy that makes me!! And you gave me the best compliment ever! eyes grow to the size of watermelons THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ... ... ...

Disclaimer: Legato belongs to the Past, to Pain and to Dreams, ... not to me.

Warning: Rated R-ness for VIOLENCE!! Not a lemon. Oi! ... And a hyper author.

Warm crimson streams down the walls of a living crystal. Tainted by the blood of the person he hates most, dreaming a living death, Legato Bluesummers' heart is cold, as his fathers heart is warm, his tears are blood, as his fathers are crystal. Crying the sins of the human race, Legato's heart is empty, filled with corners and screams. All of this he keeps locked with an iron self control that once fully realized has never been broken. This Self - Control is the only kindness he has ever shown the world, the single shard of his fathers sun evident in him. All of this Legato keeps inside, shown by his mother that he can not exist if not like this. Can anyone begrudge him his right to murder?

To this end humanity has groomed him, to be Deaths' playmate, to wash clean the world with his fathers hands. "Forgive them Father, they know not what they have done...," To your end, humanity, you have twisted Legato Bluesummers, to kill leisurely from behind his wall of Self- Control... If the bloodlust once reflected in his eyes should rekindle... If he should remember bloods caresses drawn against his cheek... The whole world will surely lay down and die.... for you Legato... _They _will lie down and die. _They_ say nothing bad ever came of love... _they_ are wrong. What will you think then, **Father**?

Ch.3 Self Control

"My mother needs to die. " I know not what spawned this thought, but it has been consistently surfacing in my mind unbidden in the past few days, if days ever come to the darkened heart that is my realm. It is true, that my mother, and indeed all of humanity, locked in this prison of life need to die, to vanish and erase themselves in their own blood. But I have not yet debated killing them myself. Killing one would involve killing all of them... there is no in between. I do not wish to,... for the taint of my mothers blood , the pathetic human child that I thought I had long banished has resurfaced, ... and is muddling my logic. Debating this point is a battle I cannot win, for my only options are kill everyone here and then leave and have the newspapers appoint me the "_Silent Killer_" or something ignorant like that, and be thought of as a "**murderer**," or to stay here and perhaps change some day, or leave, and be forced to tolerate these humans for the rest of my life. The child who plagues me is insisting that he does not want to go on a vendetta all alone for a cause no one will appreciate. However, he can not consign himself to being here for the rest of his miserable existence either. But there is not time to contemplate the matter now. I, Legato, who have from now until I or another end my miserable existence, have all time, am complaining for lack of it, Ah, irony. My mothers footsteps echo down the fetid halls of this hovel, announcing that she is retiring to "her room." For all the time I have spent here, it is still "her room. " Her hand hesitates on the cold doorknob, feeling the absence of life's fervor in my room, as if her mind is screaming **RUN** but her logic is binding her. Fool. She turns the handle...

Perhaps all humans have some** slight** psychic ability that awakens in time of need, some sensibility that allows them to sense when something is different, rather like the sensation an animal has when it knows it is being hunted. My mother has just entered the room, and she already knows something is wrong. I observe the hair bristle on the back of her neck like a frightened mongrel,** yes**, just like the frightened **Bitch** she is. _ Why not make a game out of this?_ , some part of my mind asks, and I agree. As my mother turns her face to me slowly, like a felon facing her executioner, I smile. How was today, mother? _Did you enjoy your last supper? _Somewhere between the time my mother opened the door and the time she turned around, her very human, dank, hot blood rose in my veins and demanded my mother not live to see another dawn illuminate the horizon of the pathetic city I make my residence in. Mothers face is a cracked mask that even temporarily fails to mask her surprise at my " polite" question.

Looking me in the face, she makes a crude attempt at disguising her scanning of my face, trying to fathom what is new, why I am making an attempt to be "nice to her." Her misinterpretation is so amusing that I nearly laugh out loud. The bitch believes that I have developed romantic feelings for her. I may have "grown up" in a harem, but still...! I am sure that most fourteen year old children would have no inclination towards such things, and I certainly do not. But my mother is right in one way... the glaze in my eyes is caused by the emotion that I feel for her... I want to... caress her heart with my mind and destroy it, I want to cause her crimson suffering, warm and sweet. This in my eyes, Mother, is _bloodlust_.

My day was fine, Legato... She leans toward me, giving me a view of her decolletage and scanning my eyes for any reaction, attempting to confirm her theory. I What she does not realize is that at this close range, the beating of her hated heart drowns out everything, all thought, all reason, fanning the flames of deaths' desires. Mother...! I breath, and then stand up suddenly, away from her and the roaring black hole looming around her that is ebbing my self control.

My voice is smooth with a slight rasp as I approach her, Legato as the _Inferno_. Her eyes grow wide as an eternity of frightened thoughts parade through her mind, because some part of her knows what is truly happening. Her pupils dilate and her breathing is accelerated... I smile at her, because she won't live much longer.

( I will be switching from narration to Legato's POV to Jalin's -his mother's- POV, so just sit tight and enjoy the ride... Oh, and after this is fairly R rated for violence... Heh...)

Legato smiles tenderly at his mother, power rasping down his voice. " Stop Shaking. " Her body instantly obeys, and her feeble mind wails terror. Le...ga..to...?! " How can you... talk in my head... ! " Her body may not be shaking, but her voice is. She emits a series of gasping, breathy noises, as if she has run a long way. Some " logic" in her mind asserts itself for what will probably be the last time, and against her better instincts, she rises from the bed and looks her son in the eye. "Foolish woman. You need to be punished..." PAIN, Legato whispers, and blood snakes its way down his mothers neck from a shallow, surgical quality cut on her neck, just over her jugular. Screams. The terror rampant in her thoughts is sweet poison stealing its way through Legato's already drugged system. She tries to push him and run, chaos devouring reason, but he easily anticipates her move and grabs her hand, bruising her wrist with the force of his long, fragile looking fingers. With his other hand he fondles the hollow of her throat where the blood has run down over her heart. " The feeling of the pulse in your throat... is incredible! Like a caged butterfly beating against a cage, controlled by invisible strings, directing the blood of her life. How fragile your life is, mother. " A panicked yellow forms around the rim of his mothers pupils as Legato momentarily contemplates her pulse. The unusual yellow gaze of her eyes surprises Legato as she wrenches her hand out of his grip, shoves open the door, and runs panicked down the hall, coarse yellow hair streaming behind her. " Let her run. She can hardly escape me... " People parting like water around him, Legato strides down the hall after his mother, into the cooling night.

It is an interesting sensation to step into the hall that I have never traveled in body but have constantly paced in the minds of others. People part around me, their faces blank as if they are dreaming awake, frozen in the attitude of their tasks. I am free now, from the confines of this hall. As I walk like a specter through a fantasy, surrounded by unmoving paper figures, my heart is... awakened, free to follow in body what the mind has traveled for so long. A sense of unreality seeps through this frozen world I have created with my mind. As I step out into the blessed night, surrounded by dark stars, I look back into the paralyzed world I have left and restore it with a sweep of my hands. Activity instantly resumes from the paralysis I imposed on it when I stepped out of my room. No one remembers or laments my passing through this hall, nor will they ever.

__

My mothers' body is quickly exhausting itself. This running is pointless, were she walking, it would make no difference in her life span. She runs barefoot through the torrid back alleys, afraid to stop, unable to go forward. Yet you are not as caged as I was , Mother. **Do You Remember?!** Alone in that horrible room, alone and never knowing the sound of my voice! Suddenly, I am weary of this pointless chase. "_Stop_." I whisper subtly to the back of your mind, and it obeys, though more slowly this time, taking the time to change my comment into " He must not be following me, I can _stop_ and rest now", as I had anticipated your mind would. I approach now, making sure to block the footfall of my feet from your mind, though how I do this I have not the faintest of ideas. I appear from around the corner and dissipate your mental mist. I imagine you stepping towards me, your heart hammering as you do. I love it when my thoughts mirror reality.

I look you in the eyes, letting the pressure build behind my eyes until you have no choice but to look me in the eyes and put your rigid, cold hand against my throat. Do you feel a pulse? I ask. Do you!? Feel. A. Pulse??!

( After this, REALLY HORRIBLE VIOLENCE!!! DON"T READ IF EVEN SLIGHTLY SQUEAMISH!!!!!!)

Nnnnnoooo... you stammer. That's right, because I'm dead! We are both dead!" Legato's voice crescendoes, although he still sounds smooth, beautiful and insane. Why she can't feel his pulse, neither of them truly knows... but she will certainly pay for giving voice to the feeling Legato has had all his life. Dead, invisible. Soon you will be too, the chorus of the blood in your veins is screaming. "You need to die. **DIE!**"

Legatos' warm madness reaches out and envelopes his mother, who shivering in her frail nightgown, unwillingly reaches one of her hands up, over her own heart. Legato takes one of his hands and gently, almost tenderly, places it over hers. They are silhouetted against the sky, two figures face to face. Although not much older that fourteen, Legato is taller than his mother, despite malnutrition, and because his mother is tiny. Jalins hand begins to tighten under his, to scratch into her flesh, fingernails becoming flooded with blood. Legato is not pushing her, not injuring her, just a slight pressure on her hand, a slight guide as her hand works its way into her flesh, towards her heart. Tears running down her face, unable to speak under the feeling of the drugged power that surrounds her, Jalin steadily kills her self. Although her chest is only flayed about an inch and a half in, the blood loss is taking it tole on her strength. She is already ( functionally) dead, but Legato wants more. He whispers some soft obscenity in her ear and she continues, until her breath is barely coming and fragments of bone show. Legato releases her from his spell and allows her limp hand to fall to one side, fingernails worn, their shards embedded in her flesh. He reaches out, and parting the last threads of her flesh, he touches her heart with the soft tip of his finger in time to feel its final contortion. Blood is spattered all down his handsome face, but Legato doesn't mind. All is calm, and his powers are so spent that he hears only the barest whisper of Dreams from the people in the vicinity. Legato is so happy that the echo of their dreams is a soft lull that gently calls **sleep** to him as he lays his mother by the wayside and staggers off to find a place to watch the sunset for the first time.

Maroonsorrow: So, does this make up for the long absence...? I love Legato, La La La La... Should I change this to R rated? He has never seen the sunset before, because there are no windows in his room... Oh, and there is a reason Legato was able to use his powers... and there will be repercussions for using them in the next chapter. NEXT CHAPTER: Enter Knives...! Yeah. See you, Space Cowboy.


	4. Illumination

MaroonSorrow: Hello!! In this chapter, Knives- sama is introduced! Everything I've written has been leading up to this... It's chapter four already?! I have reviews... joy! For the people that have been with me since I started the story, I went back and added some stuff to chapter 1 a while ago and forgot to tell you...Sorry... ;; I've been meaning to ask for a beta reader too... so now I ask... I NEED A BETA READER!!!... In the second paragraph of the story, I will use a quote from a video game...Legato will grant you a quick end if you can tell what the game is... And I'll give you hot dogs...

As always, means a change in POV.

Yma: You have no clue how happy it makes me to have someone actually review multiple times... I fixed a couple of things so feel free to re-read the chapter...Thank You, You're most of the reason this story isn't dead....

AnonymousTrigunOtaku: I killed the bold text...;;

Raditz: I think in some twisted way, I take threats as more of a compliments than actuall compliments, sooooo.... Thank you!

DemonAvatar: Hey guess what? In this story, Vash is Legato's dad... Did you read the story, or just the first paragraph and then decide to review and make me feel stupid?!

Disclaimer: Legato is Knives' minion, I am Legato's minion, Knives is NOT MY MINION. ... and Trigun is not mine either... My only minion's are the original characters... :P

Warning: This a happy- fun chapter, and is bound to be more light hearted than the rest of the story...Legato may seem slightly OOC at first, because this chapter has little angst... ( Legato with no angst! :P How could that be? )

He walks confidently, the sun glinting off his insane- blond hair that broadcasts his personality, although most are too simple to hear it, to listen to his blue, glass mirror, sanity- deprived eyes. From the tilt of his head and the tone of his voice, you can see that he is a man used to getting his way. Not since he was a small child has he taken orders from anyone. He has a perfect self-control..., if he gets angry, it is because he allows himself to do so, if he seems to know everything, it is because he does. His breaths are all for appearance, he does not need them, when he drinks water, it is just for show. He is everything Legato has ever wished to be.

Knives is the psycho/ cool leader of the Gung-ho guns, worthless minions, all. But they serve his purpose... like fools they assist in a goal they will not ever comprehend. They know nothing, they see nothing, they can learn nothing. In the end, there must be understanding to begin with in order to create mastery of a concept. Although Knives' presence alone is enough to awaken hidden powers in the people around him, enough to create a vicious tornado out of a mild breeze, to craft understanding out of confusion... he does not think it is enough. In the end, he believes that only his worthless brother will ever fathom what he is trying to do. But Knives, what if someone did understand what you were trying to do? What if they were human? Or Half- Human? What would you think then, Knives?

Ch. 4 Illumination

It is sad to think that in my whole life, but five or six times have I felt sunlight. The most recent was on the day I was kidnaped, and even then the only reason I was allowed to go to market was that many were sick and medicine was needed. But now, in the new sunlight, such thoughts have lost most of their hold on me. I sit up, blinking sleepily on the brink of sleep, trying to gauge my surroundings. I am on the rooftop of an abandoned building... As I straighten up, I notice a slight crust of dried blood on my shirt, and the memories of last nights glorious lack of restraint come flooding back. I feel liberated, exhausted..., I hear no thoughts, feel no sorrow. The dark room of my heart feels strangely illuminated by this simple ray of light, my mothers death. I lie back down and allow the soft sunlight to wash over me. I am... happy? Strangely enough, I have no desire to contemplate last night, or entertain thoughts of Why?, or How... This feeling is new to me, and I am determined to enjoy it while it lasts, this hallow contentment.

I lounge here, trying to recover my body, which is weakened terribly, no doubt from my exertions yesterday evening ( this morning? ). A gentle, hallucinatory daze takes me, and I fall into a soft slumber.

( Change in POV)

" What am I doing in this worthless town? " Knives asks himself as he leans against the doorway of the shabby hotel he has been staying in, watching spiders scurry through the streets. He has been following his talent for sensing psychic energy, collecting minions. Late last night, before the sun rose, Knives had been jerked out of his coma like state of sleep that he only observed when he was in absolute safety, a state of sleep only his will, or that of his brothers could jerk him out of. Instead of the white blankness that sleep ordinarily was, he had been having a dream, something that was impossible in this state of mind. Everything had been swathed in fog, and through this fog, Knives had seen glimpses of a blue haired child with the same talent to his energy as Vash, a blue haired child who had been using his powers to... what? Knives couldn't recall, but he remembered muted blood and a strong sense of approval.

When he had awoken, Knives had felt a burst of raw energy, pure as death and uncontrolled, as if the user was barely holding on. The energy had been of excellent quality but in need of refinement, like a diamond in the rough. Knives had simply stayed in his bed until the power let go and he was no longer gauging skill levels and frantically trying to get an exact fix on the location of the power flare, but could now try to hypothesize what **that** had been.

" It has been so long since I felt a burst of essence like that, not the slight, watered down aura that humans have, but real power. A breath of fresh air, certainly a nice respite from the niggling impure talents I am forced to resort to cultivating... As it is, that was not my brother, that was certainly not me, so...? My other brothers and sisters are trapped, unable to channel energy like that..." Knives had heard rumors, a stain on his brothers mind, a whisper of a child with golden eyes... " If you had a son, Vash... "

Although Knives doubted that he would be that lucky, it would be interesting if he was... A slight giggle rose in his throat as he thought of Vash's son... blackmail, extortion, kidnaping certainly... Although having another Vash around would be no end of trouble, he was sure he could find ways to make sure the boy didn't go the way of his father... Knives giggled to himself as he closed his eyes and started mentally scanning for any flickers of energy...

( C. in POV )

A vague awareness overtook Legato, making him realize that his body having had recovered all the energy it could through sleep, and was now looking for sustenance. In other words, he was really hungry. Legato struggled down from his perch, wondering how he was going to get food...

" I can no longer read minds" Legato mused "... so how will I get any food?" Normally Legato would've been able to find the nearest human by listening for them, but now... " I suspect that I have not lost my "powers" but simply used up most of my energy..." Whenever Legato projected his mind to search for someone reading, he was hungry afterwards. "So, as fallows, if I get my energy back, I'll be able to read minds again... Now that I need my talent to eat, I won't get it back until after I do... hopefully..." Legato smiled slightly, the irony of the situation not lost on him.

" Who would've thought that I would EVER miss my "talent"..." Legato thought as he staggered off...

(C. In POV)

Knives had been standing in the doorway for some time, scanning. He had found several empty echoes that felt as though something HAD been there, but there was nothing now. Knives growled softly in frustration, feeling mentally through a dark alley with ... blood on the walls? He had a sense of Deja Vu as he asked the walls for any imprint of aura and discovered with chagrin that the whole alley was painted with traces of energy...

Knives shook himself out of his mental fog and rose from his doorway, staggering as unused muscles adjusted themselves, oblivious to the spent aura that was flaring slightly in response to his... He was going to find out what had happened in that alley, and his posture dared anyone to get in his way, his thoughts were hovering so strongly in the air around him, not even a human could've missed his determination.

(C. In POV)

Legato had guided himself to the " civilized" part of the city, away from the cold alleys and side streets. He had just emerged from a back alley when he felt something prickle along his skin, drawing his attention to a hotel with a tall blond man in the doorway of a nearby hotel, not allowing him to look away. Legato lurched forward, feeling like an invisible something was yanking him forward, an aura covering every last inch of his body, smothering him... Legato stepped out into the street...

( C. In POV)

A blond man strides confidently across the street, a blue haired child in rags marches forward like a soldier pulled by invisible strings, his eyes fixed on the sky-eyes stranger. As they approach each other, Destiny smiles as her strings draw tightly around the two...

( C. in POV)

Knives' mind was so preoccupied with Legato's existence that he failed to notice Legato until he bumped into Knives, sending a whirlwind of aura dancing around them. Knives glanced down then, his eyes widening to see an immobile, blood spattered Legato, golden eyes glinting with macabre knowledge of killing done under the stars, aura so empty but so huge, lying on the sidewalk. Legato was simply so overwhelmed by the flutter of thoughts he was getting from this man, the feeling that they shared, a hatred of humans. Knives smiled, reaching down to this juvenile psychic, his mind reeling as their hands met. All of Legato's hatred, his emptiness, his sorrow was crammed into Knives' mind, leaving Knives shocked, listening to Legato's questions about his father, wondering... Legato, in turn, received glimpses of Knives' past, felt his hatred for the " spiders"... those little bits of information were enough to overload his already taxed body, making him let go, mind reeling.

Knives couldn't help but feel a strong sense of comradeship with Legato as his mind quickly processed the situation. The boy needed food... and training.... As Knives bent over Legato and wrapped him in his coat, one thought flowed both ways... " Maybe he could understand me..." A mutual wish for understanding had briefly linked their minds before Legato's tired mind let go and he collapsed, happy in his fugue of exhaustion.

Knives strolled over to a nearby street vendor, gently setting Legato down by the cart. " Can I get a hot dog?"

Marronsaro: Good chapter? Bad chapter? I refuse to update until I have sixteen reviews... that is not a lot, people! I leave you with this: I had to write a paper on my hero for Drama... I wrote about Legato... Review!


	5. Angels of Loss

Okay... this chapter is short. Really short. I've got a lot of homework due to three honors classes and I don't really have time or inspiration. At some point I will write the other half of this chapter, I just felt like you guys were probably sick of waiting. So... here. Oh, and this is slowly going towards Knives/ legato... your thoughts on this, please.

-MaroonSorrow

Disclaimer: If I owned Trigun, I wouldn't be sitting here typing when I should be doing my homework...

The sunlight filtering through a window glimpses a soft smile tugging at the edge of a slumbering child's mouth, a child who has never slept in the sun before these past days... Slightly malnourished, the juvenile, first of his species( half-human, half- PLANT) is wrapped in Knives' red-black coat. Slowly hours drift by, drops of water in a rainstorm, the sun penetrates the shutters, revealing Knives sitting there examining Legato's still form. He has been sitting there for hours, with the gentlest expression on his face that has been seen since he looked at his brother and saw the scars of mankind there. Since Knives glimpsed his brother's poisoning, he has fought with such urgency, hoping to revive his beloved brother from the spiders poison. But until then..., alone and misunderstood, he has longed for his brother to wake up, to see the cage he is in. But now..., Knives has stumbled on a companion to help him with his goal... the destruction of humanity, the saving of his brother. As Knives sits there, eyes gleaming, imagining the spiders all dead, and the butterflies all free, the sunlight seems to grow colder: It can't heat this room, filled with the cold of Fallen Angels.

Ch.5 Angels of Loss

There is something new in the hollow chamber of my heart. Fourteen years spent without purpose... what purpose was there for me? I've no interest in human matters. No interest in - anything. For the past week, I have not spent any time brooding- I who did nothing but brood for so many years in that prison of my room- I've been assisting Lord Knives. I cannot avoid admiring him... he is perfectly controlled and determined. Knives has no hesitation- it isn't just bravado, the man truly seems to know everything. His absolute faith makes you question your own motives. I have never truly had any motives... just introspection and a burning desire for **her** death. It makes me laugh to think that one week with Knives has already changed me; I've found a goal I can believe in.

I don't mean that I've found my destiny or anything so pathetic as that. I've no interest in love or glory or any of the shades that humans are always chasing after. I have no fire to me, no interest. What is there to be interested in? Despite that... I find I can easily consign myself to spending my entire life working towards what most would think an impossible goal. I'm going to help Knives kill every last one of the humans. Really, it isn't impossible. I can hear the laughter in my voice, this is some thing I will enjoy. If I can kill humans now, in my untrained state, it'll be easy to do after I train my mind. " Practice" if you will.

I'm lying here on the ground, my back partially propped up against the giant crystal bauble that a PLANT resides in. The glass is cool against my cheek, but I can feel the hum of my sisters' energy within, a tingle of electricity. All around me, there are scattered corpses, the air is filled with the warm reek of blood. Red pools on the ground, but not one of the bodies is anywhere near me. I'm tired from using my mind to crush the idiot who tried to shoot Knives, so I'll just linger here. Someday, it will be just like this.

It will be Silent and Silver-tinged with Knives presence, no more screams.... the dust on this wretched planet will finally settle. The " Spiders" as Knives calls them, will all be gone. It's an appropriate analogy... humans entangle themselves in useless emotions... One of the things that I admire about Knives is that he has emotion without lack of reason. My eyes are closed, but I can still see everything. Soon the screaming will start and then the despair: Knives has just walked into town.

And... that is it. Don't you just LOVE cliffhangers? ( sarcasm, for all of you who can't tell)

I really do love my reviewers... I'm just kind of fatigued. Is it my senior year yet?!


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